


Contribution to the Revolution

by EKmisao



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Era, M/M, occasional nsfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-11-27 19:18:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 13,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EKmisao/pseuds/EKmisao
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drunk man says what is most true. Even when it is about the real musings of a young leader.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Umi (umichii)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/umichii/gifts), [keio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keio/gifts).



> K. Umi. This is all your fault. 
> 
> Disclaimer: This is their fault. This was originally on tumblr. Posting it here for archive purposes. Thank you to K's friends and annotated-em for also liking this crazy little thing. 
> 
> The real disclaimer: I am far from worthy to be claiming anything done awesomely by Victor Hugo, nor by people behind an incredible musical.
> 
> Anyhow, thank you for reading and I hope you like it.

Grantaire laughed at their fearless leader’s irritation, while downing his….it must have been his third bottle for the night, he was no longer sure.

The fearless leader grumbled as everyone flocked around their recently lovestruck friend. It just had to be when things were getting interesting when Marius decided he loved a girl, even if he did not know her name, never mind her address. And oh how the poor fellow floated around the room, not really taking anything in, just happy and grateful that most of the ABC cafe patrons agreed with him. 

Grantaire chuckled as the fearless leader pored over their plans, spread out in several large sheets of paper, over a table littered with scraps of bread, old cheese, and stale wine. He smiled as Enjolras stomped through the assembled assortment of characters, most he knew from the beginning, some he just knew from that night. He watched as the leader grumpily kept glancing at Marius, harrumphing in between intense conversations with leaders of the other pockets of resistance. 

He patiently waited until some of the older patrons of the cafe had left, until Eponine arrived and dragged Marius off somewhere. He chuckled at the irony of that, as well, he who could see how much their messenger girl adored Marius, even through the fog of five bottles. The fellow was incredibly blind, incredibly dense. Even if Eponine did a lap dance she would never get even a kiss out of that chap. Nice fellow, but terribly dense. 

He smiled as another terribly dense fellow approached him. 

“Grantaire, is your contribution to the revolution merely to keep us entertained with yourself?” asked the fearless leader. 

“Thank you, if you think so!” he replied with a flourish. 

“Isn’t it enough that we already have one useless lover boy among us? I’m sure you’re just waiting for a girl for the night too?” 

“Well, what am I supposed to do, sir? Watch as you mope for the love you lost tonight?” 

He smiled with satisfaction, as the fearless leader alternately grew red in the face, then pale, then pink in the cheeks. 

“You and the messenger girl need to talk, you know,” he added with relish. 

“Why….why you…” 

“The words of a drunk man are the most true, good sir. Are they not?” He grinned. 

“Confound you, Grantaire!” Enjolras snarled. 

“Sure, sure, consign him to hell,” he said. “And you can add this to the devil’s list.” 

He grabbed the fearless leader by the front of his shirt, and placed his lips over his. Cheap bread, cheap cheese, cheap wine. On rich lips. 

He blamed it on the alcohol. Yes, just the alcohol. 

Several men hooted. Most were too tired or too drunk to care. 

Enjolras stared daggers and knives at him.

“I know I’m useless,” Grantaire said, rubbing his head. “And I know I’m nothing to you. But, if it matters any small bit to you, I’ll follow you to hell and back. Alright?”

The fearless leader tossed his head and walked away. 

Graintaire chuckled and finished his fifth bottle in one long swig.


	2. first meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These transferred-from-tumblr things are not strictly in chronological order. Also I'm not sure how many of these things there will be. 
> 
> Thank you for the kudos and the hits, everybody. 
> 
> It's fun to be fanfic-ing again. It's just scary to be doing it to an institution of worldwide classic literature.

Of course he had seen him before. Every student in the college did, after being there for only two months. Enjolras, after all, was a born leader, a force of nature that caused people to turn their heads and pay attention. Fellow students flocked to him without hesitation or coercion.

He watched the charismatic student from a distance. He loved his life, weaving in and out of classes at whim, following the ladies whenever he wanted. He had several circles of friends that he ate and drank with whenever he felt like it, but of course he was one of them, and not like the charismatic student who led his willing flock. 

Following the young man too closely would mean an association with him, an allegiance with his — quite frankly — terribly stiff work ethic and high philosophical ideals. He did not care about those things. He just thought Enjolras was interesting, that’s all. 

He watched the new flock Enjolras gathered around him, as he sat by the wall, alone with some very cheap wine, the only kind who could get until he received more money from home. The next free source of food would be that evening, at a friend’s apartment. 

Suddenly a shadow loomed over him. He looked up and blinked. Apollos — that is, that charismatic student from the Greek heavens — in all his radiant splendor darkened his view. How did he even get there? The wine was probably bad and laced with things that should not be in it. The gods had descended on him and he was about to die. 

“I swear, by all the saints and the gods,” he said as he slowly raised an arm, “I have not stolen anything but a woman’s honor today.” 

The Greek god that was Enjolras raised his nose and smirked. “What is your name, comrade?” 

He slowly lifted himself off the ground. The ground spun for a bit while he planted his feet. He bowed from the hip. “Grantaire, may it please your majesty,” he said. “By what cause did I deserve your notice?” 

Enjolras placed his hands on his hips, as he frowned. “Is this all you are good for? Kissing random girls and drinking your allowance money away, while the poor and the destitute continue to suffer?” 

“Yes, your majesty,” Grantaire answered with a grin. “I am surprised you actually know about the random girls, your majesty.” 

“Don’t you want to make a little more of yourself, comrade?” 

He chuckled, bitterly. “Of course, I do, Enjolras, sir.” 

“Then join us.” 

“To do what?” 

“To reclaim this country for its people.” 

He raised an eyebrow, in spite of himself. He took a long gulp at his tasteless brew. “No offense, your majesty, but aren’t we too young and too…well…without influence, to reclaim anything besides our grades?”

“We must start something. Then people will follow. Join us.”

It could not be denied that his presence, his bearing, his confidence made anyone eager to agree with him about anything. But this Apollos had only the widest and cloudiest of plans. Someone needed to plant this god to the ground among ordinary men. That person was not him. He was merely a blade of grass, to be plucked and thrown aside. 

Nonetheless, he shrugged and lifted his head, until his eyes locked their gaze at Enjolras. 

“You have wine and beer?” he asked. 

“During meetings,” the leader declared. 

“Then I’m in,” he said…soberly, if not surely.


	3. explain yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is time for us all to decide who we are.....erm, what are we exactly?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, these things are not too chronological, though they are starting to have some order. 
> 
> You have K to blame for this new chapter. 
> 
> Thank you so much for the kudos.

"Respectfully, my liege....what are we fighting for?" Grantaire finally asked, after watching Enjolras gather several groups of students for a couple of hours. 

Enjolras stopped and glared at him. "Will you stop calling me various names of the king? It is That Monster we are up against in the first place!"

"You think he's a monster? I think his highness is rather handsome," he replied. 

"You understand what I mean."

"Not really," Grantaire admitted. 

"Because your head is always in a liquor-induced fog!" 

Grantaire stopped and stood in place. He looked well at his captain, head to foot. He kept his gaze at him for several moments. At no point did he feel dizzy or confused. "No, monsieur. Perfectly sober right now. And I still don't know what we're fighting for." 

"Because...because..."

"Because, your highness, you know what you want, but you are not too sure why you want it, or how," he said. "Maybe if you explain it to me, I would want it too?"

"But those people," Enjolras said, sweeping over the group they had just left, "they understood the importance of freedom and liberty!" 

Grantaire flourished with his arm and bowed low. "My liege. Your people love you. They want to follow you. It does not matter if they really do not know why. I, however, need to know." 

Enjolras paused then, and stared at him from head to foot. Grantaire raised himself and kept a cheerful grin. 

"I...I...well..." 

"My liege, if you can manage to tell me and convince me of your aims against this monarchy, over dinner tonight, I will pay for our dinner. Agreed?" 

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "You have no money." 

"Allowance just came," he said. "But if you don't manage to convince me, you're paying for my drinks, for two weeks." 

"That's not fair!" 

"Neither is this monarchy, monsieur! So give it a try, why don't you? I'll see you at the ABC?" 

Grantaire gave him a final pat and a smile. He whistled on his way into another cafe for a beer.


	4. free dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein ratatouille is almost had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is no one's fault, but the end of the last chapter begged that this one be written. It turned out longer than I expected.

He waited patiently at a table, at the farthest, quietest corner of the noisy cafe. The ABC was loud and full of tobacco, but it was bright and warm. The food was also cheap and good, the wine and beer passable. 

The cafe began to fill with regulars: workers going home to the nearby streets, students wanting to fill their bellies before a long night. The men spoke loudly and laughed heartily as they ate and drank. Some tables had intervals of whispered heated conversations, but these were few and short-lived. He watched them all from his dark corner, keeping his throat moist with regulated sips of beer. The wine would fill him later. 

Some of the students inside the ABC were young men who had listened to Enjolras over the last few days. They talked aloud to each other, drunk on the potential of doing something absurd but powerful, if not on the wine. 

He was probably the only one getting drunk on the fearless leader. Not on his ideals, not on his leadership, not on his plans. Just him. 

He gulped down his glass of beer. He could not believe he just said that aloud to his brain. 

His majesty appeared at the door and paused there. Enjolras glanced through the crowd of young and older men, some of whom grew silent upon seeing him. He seemed rather startled by the attention he drew. Then he smiled and raised his head, acknowledging them all with a bow of the neck. 

Grantaire took this as his cue. He jumped from his seat and called aloud. “Your worshipfulness! May I be of service!” 

Many turned their heads toward him. Enjolras’s smile suddenly curled downward. 

“Free dinner, like I promised, good sir! Unless….you want to pay for my drinks starting right now!” 

The frown on the young leader’s face deepened. Nonetheless, he walked toward the corner table where Grantaire stood. 

Grantaire pushed back the chair and presented it to the young leader with a flourish. “What will you have this evening, monsieur?” 

The frown was now a scowl. “Just some ratatouille and beer…” 

“Oh, no, my liege! No vegetables for you!” Grantaire whistled toward the kitchen. “Some roast beef and your best wine for his worshipfulness, good cook!” 

“You have a running debt!” the kitchen called out. 

“I’m paying for this one!” he happily shouted back. 

Meanwhile the young leader grumpily sat across him, royally disgruntled. Grantaire chuckled. His worshipfulness looked like a worthy leader, even when he was dreadfully annoyed. “While we wait, you may start convincing me that this investment is worth it,” he told him. 

Enjolras stared for a long moment at him. He sighed. “How?” 

“It is all well and good that the people here like you,” Grantaire began, taking a long deep drink from his glass. “But we are all the same: we are the children of the monarchy, either sons of the fathers in favorable places, or sons of the workers of such people. To a degree we have privilege. We speak against it, we lose this privilege. We stay silent, this privilege continues. Now, why, oh why, would you want to shake things up?” 

Enjolras nodded. 

“And I don’t want to hear that this is what is right, this is what should be,” he reminded. “That still won’t save me from the rifles of the national guard.” 

“But that IS the only proper answer.” 

That was not Enjolras who replied. 

Grantaire looked up at the young man who had approached them, with an aristocratic bearing but a threadbare suit that did not match it. He shrugged. “Another dreamer, my liege?” 

“I don’t know him,” Enjolras said, nodding to the newcomer. 

The young man smiled. “Marius Pontmercy. From the law college. Sorry for intruding. I just…I don’t know…I’m interested in this conversation?” 

“I’m not paying for two people,” Grantaire declared with a frown. 

“Oh, it’s alright. I…..already ate.” The newcomer lowered his head. 

“Liar.” He heard the growling stomach clearly. “Fine, you too. Only if you pay with your words. Why is that the proper answer?” 

“It is not right that we are beneficiaries of privilege, because we have been born into it, and for only that reason,” the newcomer began, flipping a chair and sitting with them. “If we decide to abandon this privilege, there is no hope of our continued comfort. This is the situation among so many of our fellow men. Merely because they have been born into humble families, they have no chance at a better life. Or, if we decide to waste this privilege without helping others, there is nothing to stop us from doing so. That is not fair, and that should be corrected.” 

Both Enjolras and Grantaire raised their eyebrows. Granted that was the same material Enjolras spouted at the students, but the way the newcomer said it struck home efficiently. 

“You may still die defending this lofty ideal, sir,” Grantaire reminded. 

Marius sighed into a smile. “I’m not worth much, anyway. At least I could be useful to someone, even if they are faces I do not know. It is still better than being a lawyer stuck behind a desk, defending the privileged.” 

“Fine, fine, you win,” Grantaire shrugged and called to the kitchen. “Another order of roast beef!” He grinned. 

The newcomer was polite and interesting, and he spoke well. He would be good for the young leader, as his spokesman. Meanwhile, he sighed as he noticed the young leader keep his gaze at the newcomer, impressed and interested. 

He walked to the landlady and handed over the payment. “And two bottles of your best wine for me.” 

He headed back to the table. 

He watched as the young leader and the newcomer continued their heated conversation, discussing various points of governance and the recent political events. He watched as he let himself sink into the foggy haze of the alcohol, with only one thought filling him: 

I am nothing to him. And always will be nothing.


	5. losing touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Status: it's complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not sure why I'm doing this. But thank you for indulging this rusty fanfic writer.

So it was that the fearless leader began to collect people around him in an organized manner. College students, like himself, rich, bored, and interested. Young working men, intelligent but unable to study. Poor men, disgruntled and angry. 

One had access to insider information from within the walls of the palace. Another knew where to get guns. One man was an assistant at a printing press. Another worked at a paper mill. Still others knew people who knew other people who could help the cause from the shadows. Few knew other classmates or workmates interested and willing to join. 

From the corners of the cafe, behind a bottle or two, Grantaire watched the group increase daily, in turns cheerful and loud, then serious and quiet. Always it was earnest and hopeful. 

And stupid. 

He personally did not care much about his life, so it did not matter to him either way, whether he remained alive or dead. While alive he would relish every moment, taking in every scene, every new acquaintance. He would bask in this joint danger they were taking upon themselves. But when he died….no one was bound to miss him.

Some of these fellows, though, were not thinking too hard into the risks they were taking.

Grantaire’s job, as far as Enjolras was concerned, was to make the group happy, and to annoy him. He probably did a good job, for the fellows always smiled and patted his back and shoulder when he passed, often sharing meals and drinks with him whenever they could. He probably did a good job, for Enjolras consistently frowned at him now, at how useless he was, at how many bottles of wine he consumed alone.

Once in a while he took humorous shots at whatever was said that did not properly make sense, sending everyone laughing and Enjolras scowling. He never meant to be contradictory. He just wanted the fearless leader to see the holes in his reasoning before the national guard and the people of Paris did. Enjolras, of course, never saw it that way. The leader just thought he was annoying and irritating. 

But attention, of any sort, was attention. 

One of them….it was Combeferre, or Courfeyrac…he was just sure the name started with a C…sat down beside him, taking his bottle and guzzling down a good amount into a throat. 

“Is it just me, or are you losing your touch?” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Whaddya mean?” 

“You’ve been in a constant relationship with Pinot Noir, for quite a while now.”

“I always have a fling with her,” he replied, raising the bottle with a smile.

“Yes, well. But you used to have nights with a real female too. Now it’s just the wine.”

He sat up straight. He blinked. He suddenly sobered. 

“So, it is just me, or are you losing it?” the young man named with a C chuckled.

“It’s just you, comrade.” Grantaire gave a weak chuckle as he rose, taking the bottle with him.

He slowly trudged back to his apartment, the messy little place he had to go home to when the fun had died down. He was alone. 

…..

He woke up, many hours later, to a bright hot light streaming through his window, and a pounding headache. His trousers had fallen to his ankles. His manhood lay limp and revealed. His hand was soaked with himself.

Maybe he was indeed useless and pathetic, he thought, dreaming drunken wet dreams of one he will never have.


	6. apartment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One apartment. One bed. Big problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (notes are at the end for an explanation of this sugar-rush-induced thing. sorry for the tumblr-length of this installment.)

It was a particularly tense few days in the capital. Word began to spread, words by idealistic sons of merchants, lawyers, and rulers, stoked by the anger of the general populace. Names began to surface, the names of the main proponents of the movement. 

It was decided, to keep the national guard at bay, that some of the young men would temporarily change locations, at least until the hubbub died down. Their messenger girl would decide on who went with whom, and who stayed where. She was the one who best knew the tight twists and turns of the Paris alleys, anyway. 

Grantaire was not one of the targeted, being so happy-go-lucky…or so the police thought. “Harmless student, always drunk,” according to the report Gavroche stole for them. He was therefore one of those who would protect one of the targeted. 

“Who ARE on their list, though?” he asked during the quiet, intense gathering over beer.

“Courfeyrac, Joly, Feuilly….” the fearless leader rattled off many other names, “…and myself.”

Marius raised an eyebrow. He had not been named. 

Grantaire grabbed the paper, looked through the list, found the young Pontmercy’s name. “Apparently the police think you’re too off your hinge to be dangerous. What rich person in his right mind would live in the dungheap you call your apartment?”

Marius chuckled and shrugged.

Enjolras stole a glance toward the law student’s direction. “At least he can move more openly. The ones of the list, you have to meet with Eponine about where each of you will sleep tonight. Those of you we have assigned to house the targets, be ready with the beddings.”

The leader adjourned the meeting, and the young men parted at carefully-timed intervals. 

Marius stayed for a while. He patted Enjolras at the shoulder. “Why don’t you go to my place?” he kindly, and innocently, offered.

The leader startled, as if lightning struck him, before he regained composure. He looked at Marius for a long moment. 

Then he shook his head. “It would be too obvious if I stay there. But thank you for asking.” 

“Where are you staying, then?” 

“I’ll leave it up to your friend,” Enjolras said, rising to leave. 

Grantaire took that as his cue to gulp down the last dregs from his bottle, and to head on back himself. 

He opened up his apartment door and lit a large candle.

His bed was unkempt, with a blanket on the floor and stained pillows at the head. Bottles were in various states of emptiness around the bed, some having spilled now-dried wine onto the wood and the rugs. Discarded pants, socks, and dress shirts were everywhere. He sighed and scratched his head. Oh, well. The boys were used to him now, and none of them would probably object too much to a messy room. 

But suddenly he felt a tap on the shoulder.

He turned. Eponine was already here. He sighed again. 

“Ah, good timing,” the girl in the large coat said. “I have your guest. Be nice!” 

He paled. Behind the wiry girl and her large boy cap was the fearless leader. And the leader sauntered into the room like it was his own! 

He paled even more as the fearless leader moved his eyes across the room, taking in the entire mess. He scratched his head again as the leader snorted at the scent of dried wine, stale fruit, and unwashed sweaty shirts. 

He felt the warmth in his cheeks as Enjolras sat on the bed, arguably the cleanest element in the whole room, and even that needed housekeeping. “I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes trained on the upturned dirty rug. “I’d hope to have it ready by the time you arrived!” 

The fearless leader smiled in his smirking way. It did not feel like a derision, though. “There is no other bed,” he noted. “And you seem to have no serviceable sheets.”

Grantaire kept his head lowered. “You can have the bed, my liege. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

The fearless leader snorted again. “Of course not, stupid. This is still your place. I’ll take half.” 

His heart pounded hard in its cage as he began to clear out the bottles, watching the fearless leader, on his bed, like it was nothing special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a reply to an OTP challenge going around tumblr that goes like this: 
> 
> Imagine your OTP meeting as college roommates. Person A has already inhabited the room for some time, and it’s quite disorganized. Person B walks in for the first time (unannounced) and can’t help but smile when they see Person A blushing in embarrassment of the mess, saying, “I’m sorry, I’d hoped to have it ready by the time you arrived!”
> 
> In any case, I hope you like. I'm not sure when the follow-up to this will be, though.


	7. chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance, a moment....one that will never happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the continuation of the OTP challenge noted in the previous chapter. And the result of ice cream at night. (Yes, that is a bad thing.)

Enjolras was the kind of man who kept a shirt on at night. That said, the undershirt smoothed itself over a firm chest, and hinted at the tight torso. 

Grantaire, on his side, his back to his fearless leader, sighed. 

He did not dare face him. Even the leader’s deep breathing, trying to make himself fall asleep in a tight space…it made his palms sweat, his heart pound. 

“Go to sleep,” the fearless leader ordered. 

“F…forgive my insolence, your highness,” he said weakly, “but that is…that is easier said than done. How come you’re not asleep?” 

“You’re not worried?” Enjolras said. 

“Of course I am…my liege,” he replied, without facing him.

He was worried how long Enjolras would stay centimeters and heat away from his back. He was worried about how long they had to hide from the government. He worried of the time when his leader would be truly brave enough to stay in the open, to fight. He worried how long…he would be alive. How long his stupidly brave leader would be alive. He worried if he would even have the chance to tell this crazy man how much he admired and loved his craziness. 

“Turn around, you stupid drunk.” 

“Eh?” 

“It’s stupid talking to your back. Turn around.” 

He closed his eyes, took a big gulp, and obeyed. He was now centimeters away from that smooth chiseled face he always followed from a drunken haze, from a distance. 

“This is becoming serious, my friend,” Enjolras began. 

“You mean you weren’t serious before?” he asked, his heart hammering hard underneath the calm he forced to his mouth. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“I…don’t want to know.” Especially when he could not think straight at the moment. 

“Pardieu….it’s useless talking to you.” 

“No, it’s not. I just don’t know what to say, your majesty.” And that was true. 

“What do you want out of this?” 

He wanted to wrap his arms around that waist, to draw that body close to his own, maybe to kiss those lips, maybe to do more….but that probably was not the answer his fearless leader was looking for. Especially when that face stared at him so earnestly, so desperately, for a good answer. 

“A chance, I suppose,” he said. 

“What do you mean?” 

_A chance to tell you how much you have actually done, without realizing it. A chance to show how much you matter, to us, to me. A chance to prove myself to you._

“A chance, a moment to change what is. A chance to revise our present, to change our future.” He smiled. “That’s all.” 

Enjolras harumphed and turned his back. “You never think large.” 

Grantaire had no reply.

He mused upon his pointless future while drawing the curve of the fearless leader’s back, with a finger in the air.


	8. shirts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things unspoken, words unsaid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the aftermath chapter to the tumblr prompt, plus that short thing that suddenly happened. 
> 
> Yep. There is no plan to this. It's just that I can't abandon-ship, no matter how I try, and no matter how I remember that there are two other stories I should be thinking about.

Enjolras was the kind of man who kept a shirt on at night. That said, the undershirt smoothed itself over a firm chest, and hinted at the tight torso. 

Grantaire, on his side, his back to his fearless leader, sighed. 

He did not dare face him. Even the leader’s deep breathing, trying to make himself fall asleep in a tight space…it made his palms sweat, his heart pound. 

“Go to sleep,” the fearless leader ordered. 

“F…forgive my insolence, your highness,” he said weakly, “but that is…that is easier said than done. How come you’re not asleep?” 

“You’re not worried?” Enjolras said. 

“Of course I am…my liege,” he replied, without facing him.

He was worried how long Enjolras would stay centimeters and heat away from his back. He was worried about how long they had to hide from the government. He worried of the time when his leader would be truly brave enough to stay in the open, to fight. He worried how long…he would be alive. How long his stupidly brave leader would be alive. He worried if he would even have the chance to tell this crazy man how much he admired and loved his craziness. 

“Turn around, you stupid drunk.” 

“Eh?” 

“It’s stupid talking to your back. Turn around.” 

He closed his eyes, took a big gulp, and obeyed. He was now centimeters away from that smooth chiseled face he always followed from a drunken haze, from a distance. 

“This is becoming serious, my friend,” Enjolras began. 

“You mean you weren’t serious before?” he asked, his heart hammering hard underneath the calm he forced to his mouth. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“I…don’t want to know.” Especially when he could not think straight at the moment. 

“Pardieu….it’s useless talking to you.” 

“No, it’s not. I just don’t know what to say, your majesty.” And that was true. 

“What do you want out of this?” 

He wanted to wrap his arms around that waist, to draw that body close to his own, maybe to kiss those lips, maybe to do more….but that probably was not the answer his fearless leader was looking for. Especially when that face stared at him so earnestly, so desperately, for a good answer. 

“A chance, I suppose,” he said. 

“What do you mean?” 

A chance to tell you how much you have actually done, without realizing it. A chance to show how much you matter, to us, to me. A chance to prove myself to you.

“A chance, a moment to change what is. A chance to revise our present, to change our future.” He smiled. “That’s all.” 

Enjolras harumphed and turned his back. “You never think large.” 

Grantaire had no reply.

He mused upon his pointless future while drawing the curve of the fearless leader’s back, with a finger in the air. 

.............................

The fearless leader was gone. He had been gone for many hours now. 

Grantaire sort of knew when it happened. A shift of warmth. A change of contour on the bed. A gentle sigh. Then a profound emptiness when his hand reached over. 

He sort of heard it as well. Rustling of clothes. Buckling of a belt. Clip-clop of sturdy leather shoes. Lazy. Sleepyhead. It’s light. I have to meet people. I can’t wait until your hours. I’ll see you at the cafe tonight. 

A gentle opening of the door, then a closing. Then he was gone. 

His arm remained on the fearless leader’s side of the bed, sensing the warmth left behind, and the emptiness. He curled into a ball, clutching the sheets, breathing the scent that just departed. Sweat and musky deep perfume. 

He sunk back into a dreamless stupor, laced with the last vestiges of liquor, poisoned by thoughts of hopeless adoration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I was surprised at the reaction to the guys wearing shirts to bed, since the men in my family normally do that. ^^;;


	9. puzzle piece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Useless and insignificant, even from the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are two previous tumblr posts (the 'too tired' and the 'drunk on tuna carbonara' ones). 
> 
> Yes I was drunk on tuna carbonara back then. Carbohydrates mess with my brain. My genes betray me.

The cafe was quietly, nervously, excitedly, buzzing about the news. It seems that the only statesman who even barely gives the masses a second glance might not last long to do so. Among the well-heeled it the news passed from official to official. Among the populace it was whispered by the servants to the shopkeepers. 

Quite frankly, it bothered Grantaire that his friends and comrades almost eagerly sought news about a statesman’s illness and possible death. He washed it down with more wine. “You murderers,” he chuckled at them all. “You marksmen.” 

Who did they think they were? Were they truly crazy enough to think that they could take the place of an old statesman and change the monarchy?

“We will show them that his words are shared by the people,” Enjolras declared. “We will show them that Lamarck is important to the masses. We will show them that his words are not empty, and that action should be taken, by the people he has spoken for! We will take to the streets and show them that we are not afraid, and we are many, and we have to be heard!”

The cheers were cautious.

“What?” the fearless leader asked, his gaze piercing through each young man. “Don’t tell me you’re backing out of this now.”

The group remained silent, looking at each other, anxious, worried. Even Marius bit his lip and looked away. 

So it was Grantaire who stood up, alone, gulping down a long swig. He faced Enjolras. He bowed deeply. 

“My liege,” he began. “It worries us, that we are no longer a pleasurably dangerous secret among ourselves. Speaking for myself, at least, it’s scary, you know. Now some of us are being watched by the police. Many of us are forced to live in other places. Rousing the people on the street is one thing. Getting their support when they may lose their lives about this….that’s completely another thing.” 

Grantaire heard the collective sigh that meant he had placed the cork on the right bottle. The young men all looked at the floor or the tables before them. 

Then he shrugged, and stared at his leader.

“For what it’s worth, though, I’d like to see this crazy messy thing to its end. I’m going to die, that’s certain. It’s just knowing if it’s soon, or not-so-soon. I’d rather that it was not a boring death because I drank too much.”

He smiled his cowardly, brave, fatalistic, determined little grin. He sat down. He ate his bread and cheese.

He kept eating, bravely staring down at his food, forcing himself not to look at his fearless leader.

He kept glancing over his shoulder as his comrades slowly began to nod their heads, to stand up and shake his leader’s hand, to stand and pat the leader on the shoulder. 

Of course Grantaire knew it. Enjolras would immediately not notice that this was because of what he said. It’s just Enjolras being Enjolras. His eyes were always on the big picture, and the parts each person played in completing his big puzzle. Of course he always forgot the shape of each individual piece as soon as he had placed it. This was not because he was arrogant or self-centered or horrible. He was just…absent-minded that way. 

Grantaire was the puzzle piece in the corner, small and insignificant. No matter how crucial. 

He rolled his eyes at this realization, and watched with a knowing smile as the ABC bustled with life again, filled with new courage and determination.

.................................

The cafe had grown quiet by a little before midnight. Curfews had been put in place, but in either case many of them did not want to be suspicious by leaving the cafe so late. 

He remained at a far and damp corner, having had five too many bottles, deep already in the haze of the evening, neither asleep nor awake. The police knew him for what he was, and many of them no longer cared. Neither did he.

He could not help with the bullets; he did not know where to get silver. He could not help with the guns; the police knew him too well for the drunk young man who they always caught out in the streets. He could not help with the recruitments; he knew many people but not well enough for them to see past the alcohol. He could not help with the flag-making; his could not even sew his pants when they tore, and whatever stitches he could make were very, very ugly. He could not help with the propaganda; he was not very good with words made to convince people who did not know him.

Maybe Enjolras was right: he was just good for entertainment.

He did think that what everyone else did was incredible and commendable. He gave his appreciation freely, whenever he could. He made them happy. He made them brave. He still did nothing that was any use. 

He watched with glazed eyes, half in a dream, as the fearless leader chatted excitedly with the pauper statesman, the law student Marius. Pieces of paper scattered on the table between them. Enjolras’s cheeks were red. Yet he had not been drinking at all that night. The leader kept his lips clenched, bottling whatever thoughts and feelings made his heart thump while listening intently at this loyal recruit with the old tattered suit. 

He wished it were him, but of course it would never happen. It never would. He knew it was so. He sank deeper into the stupor. 

Until he felt a tapping at his cheek. 

“Wake up. I won’t be able to find your place myself.” 

“Then sleep here,” he grumbled in his stupor. “Nice and warm. Not so bad.” 

“I’ll walk you home. If you can find the way.” 

“Like your poodle,” he muttered. “For decoration. Not useful. At all. Your…highness…” 

“Grantaire, I do not have a poodle.” 

He patted his curly head. “Have one now. I do tricks, master.” 

He heard a very deep and annoyed sigh as he was lifted off the chair and slung over a shoulder. “You’re drunk. I’ll take you home. Stay awake long enough to get there.” 

“Yes, master. My liege.”

He chuckled as he allowed his leader to drag his feet into the cold Paris air and cobbled streets.


	10. absolutely necessary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I can't seem to abandon ship.

He felt something warm and soft under him, and something cool and damp over his forehead. He also felt a furious tapping on his shoulder. Everything hurt. He groaned to acknowledge the furious tapping. 

“Wake up for a moment, won’t you.” 

He patted at the lamp stand and retrieved his pocket watch. Everything hurt. Even his eyes, as he opened them to peer at the watch. “It’s….it’s….ten in the morning.” He felt dizzy. His words felt thick. “Why are you still here, my lord?”

“You have to drink, you stupid fool!”

“It’s too early…”

“Water, you drunk, water!” The fearless leader was a furious leader at that moment. “You’re too dehydrated.” 

“De-hy…what?” he was sure his leader was not in college to be a doctor, so….

The leader shook him again. “Get up for a moment. You’re running a fever. The doctor next door said you just need to have some water back into you. You do know how much you threw up and urinated as soon as you got here, yes?” 

“No,” he answered honestly. There was a doctor who came? And…the thought came even through the haze of a thickened warmed head…why did it matter to Enjolras? 

Why did HE matter? 

“What do you need, my liege?” he asked, forcing himself to sit up. 

“Nothing, nothing!” the leader exclaimed. 

“Liar.” He smiled weakly, taking the glass of chilled water off the leader’s hand. The water felt cool and absolutely necessary in his parched throat. The same way that this realization slowly reached him. He was calling his leader a liar. For once the Greek god needed him. Chiling. But absolutely necessary. 

Enjolras sighed. “All right. The meeting tonight will be an important one. Leaders from the other sections of the city will be present. We will start planning for something that all of Paris will see, all at once. We need coordination.” 

“You don’t need me for that, sir,” he said, more bitterly than he wanted. 

“No.”

Grantaire sighed at how frank and curt the negative was. 

“But,” Ennjolras said, “among us, you’re the one who can best smell a rat.” 

“Thank you…I suppose…” He hated rats. He had them in his apartment. 

“I mean, you can sense a traitor. I need such a person to check on each man before the meeting truly starts. So we don’t give out the plan to people who may betray us.” 

“Oh.” He was not sure how he could do that while his head drummed to a regular beat, every joint ached, and he just wanted to go sleep again. 

“Do you think you can do that?” the fearless leader prodded. 

He nodded, eagerly. He would do anything for Enjolras now, even if it meant risking life and limb. 

If only his limbs would cooperate. The room spun. 

He was given another glass of water, which he gulped down, and another. 

“You can go now, my liege, really,” he said as he settled back into bed. “I’m probably keeping you from doing something more important. I’ll be there tonight.”

“I’m staying.”

His ears were failing him. “What?” The room spun again. 

“I’m staying. Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you up later for more water.”

“No…really…you don’t need to…bother about me…”

“You heard me. I’m staying.”

“You’re weird, your majesty,” he said.

He reached out for the leader’s hand, not believing that it was true. But the hand remained inside his, even as he slowly sank into feverish slumber. 

He held on, not wanting to let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have caused some confusion by this. I think I did confuse keio. This is still rather far from the point keio is worried about. I suppose I'll get to that point eventually...when I'm not so tired out from work. I am making no sense. 
> 
> Again thank you for reading this crazy randomness.


	11. joker card

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got typed over intervals at work, and it got more than tumblr-length. So here it is without a tumblr version. 
> 
> Thank you all for the kudos and pageviews and such. It's been a while since I've fanfic'ed. The world of original fic is kinda different. Kudos are nice to have for once.

He sort-of remembered being awake for two more times, to take in water and some food. But he most remembered how warm he felt the whole day…and that he promised to be helpful, for once. 

"Go already, your highness," he begged. Even he knew that the afternoon was about to leave for the night. "I'll…be there, sir." 

"Not like that, you're not!" he heard a furious leader's voice from somewhere near him. "Don't worry about us. It will be alright. We will weed them out slowly. I'll watch them carefully…" 

He sighed. See, my liege? You don't need me. 

He would never have a flair with words. He would never have enough spine to completely cut off his money from relatives and family. He did not understand everything Enjolras said, never mind what Marius said. He just knew he was having fun being with these idealistic young men he hung around with most nights. 

But he did not want a different future, the way his leader seemed to want it, the way Marius seemed to want it. He just wanted it different. Better for everyone, not just the rich or well-connected, but everyone. He just wanted to prove to himself that he had helped a little in that different future. Nothing special. And that is why he would always be useless. 

In short, he would never be like the pauper statesman that his leader seemed to favor. Never. 

"What are you thinking again?" Enjolras asked. "Confound it, Grantaire! Don't think too much….no, no, that's not saying it right…..Confound you stupid drunk!…Look, you're not well, that is all I am saying. If you cannot do it tonight, there will be other times. We have a few more days. We can wait for you. We can use others." 

"You can use others," he repeated, with another sigh. "No, my liege." He winced, and sat up. "Give me a bit. I'm going to help. I will help you tonight." 

"Are you sure." 

He grit his teeth, stared at his leader, and smirked. "Yes, Enjolras, sir. Now, go." 

Enjolras locked eyes with him. Then he gave a solid pat on the shoulder. "You gave your word. I'll see you tonight." He stood up. 

The fearless leader opened the door and left. 

Grantaire slumped back onto the bed, panting. Of course he would not let on that everything still hurt and felt unnaturally warm. 

But a promise was a promise. He took a deep breath, and got up to slowly start dressing. 

……………………………………

The ABC cafe regulars cheered when he appeared at the door. He suspected he was paler than usual, but the dim candle lights probably disguised the fact. 

He breathed deeply, put on a big smile, and announced grandly, "Start the party! Where's the beer! Where's the beer!" 

He allowed himself to be led by his friends to a large table, already filled with food and half-empty plates. He happily greeted everyone, biting his lip when he wanted to wince, asking about this girl and that one, this irritating landlady and that nice one who let them off with a song and a kiss. 

He saw Enjolras pass among the tables. He saw the look of concern. "My liege!" he greeted, jumping off from his seat then bowing low. "At your service, my lord!" 

"Don't push it, Grantaire," Enjolras frowned. But he raised his left hand, and with a flick of two fingers the leader motioned for him to follow. 

Grantaire bowed to his friends at the table, with a forced smile. "My friends, my master calls. Enjoy your dinner!" 

"Grantaire!" 

"Yes, your majesty!" He trotted up beside Enjolras. "Shall I shine your shoes, my lord?" 

"Confound it, you fool, you're…" 

He pulled himself close to him. "Don't show it, Enjolras," he whispered hastily. "Don't give them a weakness." 

"But you're not…" 

"I'm your joker card. I'll accept that. But I will not be your losing hand. Don't make me your weakness." He patted Enjolras on the shoulder. He grinned through a wince. "I'll be fine. Now, where do we start?" 

Enjolras sighed. "Whatever, you suicidal nutcase. First table from the door. There's a new man there." 

Grantaire nodded. "One of Combeferre's friends. Ask him. But looks sincere. Add him to the ranks." 

Enjolras nodded. "Stranger at second table." 

"Joly knows him. Might squeal on us to the police. Eyes too shifty." 

"Noted," Enjolras said. 

Grantaire gestured toward a young man with a red scarf. "Plain-clothes man. New cop. He booked me once. He's probably forgotten." 

Enjolras gestured to Gavroche to approach and whispered several words. Soon the boy was off, dragging the man with red scarf out of the cafe. 

He pointed to another. "He's a thief. He just wants pickings." 

Enjolras patted Eponine on the shoulder. He whispered to her. She agreed. She disappeared, and the thief with her. 

He nodded to one young man. "I know him from class. He's probably sincere, but doesn't know what he's getting into." 

Enjolras nodded. He would deal with that himself. 

He tossed his head toward another. "Spy. From Marius's classes. Monarchist." 

Enjolras gestured to a burly man in their midst. The man left, taking the young man wearing false poor clothes. 

So the list went on. Plain-clothes man. Beggar looking for a meal. Man down on luck, with no money; useless as a leader, may help them as a gunner. Wife to a man persecuted by the monarchy; knows suppliers. Sister to one of the ABC regulars, may be useful to the cause. A good man, add him to the ranks. An influential young man, useful to the cause but treacherous; be cautious. 

It took two boisterous hours for him to sift the wheat from the chaff, and he had no moment to sit down and almost no moment to take a glass of anything. In between, Enjolras stopped and talked to various people, and he had to wait for him to finish before moving on to another person. He kept a brave cheerful front, but his limbs felt tired, he sweated more than he should, his eyes burned in their sockets. 

Marius stopped in front of them. "We're almost ready to start." The pauper statesman stared at Grantaire for a while. "Are you alright? Do you need to lie down?" 

"Thank you for noticing," he smiled weakly. "Some white wine, and I'll be alright." 

"You don't look it…" 

"Just…sit me at a table…my liege. Enjolras hasn't let me have dinner, is all!" he said. 

Marius shrugged. "Suit yourself. We're at the second floor, my liege…I mean…" 

"What in hell, Marius, you too!" Enjolras chuckled. "I'll follow. Get everything prepared." 

Marius nodded and left them. It was when the floor spun from under Grantaire's feet. 

…………………………………..

He heard many chiding voices floating over him. Various fleeting voices that came and went. 

Silly drunk. Too inebriated to join the real meeting. Useless. I don't know why he's here. 

It was ironic. He had not had any wine or beer that whole evening. He was just too sick to correct them all. 

He slept fitfully through the whole meeting. Which was just as well, he had nothing to contribute to it, anyway. And since he tended to be at the police station pretty often, it was probably better that he knew nothing that he could inadvertently say to the bluecoats. 

He eventually heard a more insistent voice over him that did not leave. "Have you eaten? Pardieu, your head is on fire! I'll get you home, alright?" 

"You can't get there without me," he muttered. His head swam. His head did not swim when he was just drunk, which was how he managed to get home. At the moment he could not tell right from left. "I can sleep here…" 

"I'll get you home! Someone find our messenger girl." 

He felt a cool cloth pass across his cheeks and forehead. He was too tired to refuse. "Stop fussing over me…your highness. I'm…just a peasant…" 

"And you're delirious. Wait a bit, we're leaving…" 

He fell back into a feverish dream from there.


	12. ordered chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> where, apparently, Grantaire knows Kafka.

He slept like the dead, for who knew how long. 

He opened his eyes to his familiar ceiling, the one he had stared at every morning, wondering why he was still alive, what he was doing with his life, was having that night worth waking up to this morning, would he have had a life worth remembering. A cockroach walked across that ceiling. It paused to say hello. 

He was not sure how he got to staring up at that ceiling, but he had a good idea. 

He heard the rustling of a broom across a floor. He saw some dust rise to just above his field of vision. 

He turned his head. His lamp stand had been cleared of socks, stray papers with old notes, love letters from one-night-stands, and chocolate wrappers. In its place was a pitcher of water and an empty glass. The floor just before it had visible wood. The bottles that used to be there were gone. 

He lifted his head. His only chair was just a chair, with no shirts flung over it. Papers and books had been stacked into three orderly piles near it. 

He chuckled.

“You always want to change things for the better, master,” he said. “Not everyone wants that, you know.” 

The fearless leader harrumphed. “It’s impossible to find anything in this dump, sir.” 

“I like my dump.” He felt his head. The fever had broke. He sighed with relief. “You stayed the night?”

“Like I had a choice, you martyr,” the leader growled.

He sighed again. Why did he have to be so dead last night? Why did he not feel him at all, touching his head, placing that cloth soaked in cold water over it? Why did he not taste the drops of water slowly filled into him during the night by those hands? Why did he not sense his breaths in sleep, or the pacing on the floor in worry? Why did not sense it all, to savor it?

“I don’t know what you did, my liege, but thank you,” he said.

The leader harrumphed again. “Whatever.” He cleared his throat. “What you did last night was important, to all of us. Because of that, we have a better network of people supporting our cause, ready to act at a moment’s notice.”

Grantaire felt his head again. It did not feel feverish any more, but he must still be delirious, and thus, hearing things in his head that were not truly being said.

He did something important? 

“Now what are you thinking?” his leader asked with a frown. 

“Oh, nothing, Enjolras. Just…I’m tired of sleeping. I’m hungry.” And embarrassed. 

Enjolras was likely to forget his words tomorrow. He would forget who it was who helped select his broader group of contacts. But at least, for today, he remembered. 

Grantaire wanted his messy apartment back, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well it was keio who said R was channeling Metamorphosis. I just thought a passing cockroach was, well, a passing cockroach. Asians. They know cockroaches. 
> 
> Again thank you for sticking around with this thing.


	13. happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To life. To happiness. To friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of this has initially been on tumblr, but some is AO3-only, as it got longer and longer at a day without truly reliable internet beyond twitter. I hope you like.

He left it on the bed for anyone who was not blind to see. 

 _Please send all usable remains and collect remaining rental fees of this apartment to this address:_ (He directed it to his father’s house.) 

_Mother, father:_

_Thank you for sending money, all this time._

_I am sorry for being a disappointment._

_I have tried to make something of myself, as you wanted. I’m sorry it’s  not the way you may have wanted it to happen, but such is life._

_For once, I am more than a good-for-nothing lazy youth. For once, I am part of something worth doing._

_I have had good friends. Don’t worry about me._

_I love you, and I will miss you._  

……………………………  
He felt it in the air, or in his blood, that thing that made him write that letter. 

His days were numbered. That number would be suddenly, abruptly, small. 

The city was too quiet. The people of Paris were not mingling as much as they should today. Something was wrong. Or it was going to be very wrong, very soon. 

It’s not that he was a sorcerer, or a charlatan, or a fortuneteller. It was just, something. The sensations and the noises that made him wake up in the morning, knowing that all would be well after the hangover…they were not there. 

He still felt that impulsive kiss he gave, stolen as it was, given reluctantly. He felt the stiffness in his groin as he went home, alone, last night. He felt the sting of the toss of the head, as his leader turned his back, and walked away. 

It would be the only one. It would be the last. 

He knew it. He did not know how or why. He just did. 

After his leader started getting the plan into action, he would have no chance to get back to that apartment. When the barricades rose, the apartment would be beyond their perimeters. 

He pocketed the watch from home, the handkerchief his leader had left behind. 

He did not regret the choices he had made. He did not regret meeting all his friends, the regulars of the ABC, the ones who fed him, the ones who made him laugh, the ones who laughed at his jokes, the ones who took him seriously. 

He sort of regretted not getting to have more time with them. To see them grow old and grey, to play chess with in the park, to have coffee with while reminiscing this or that girl. To get invited to Marius’s house…he has rich folks, he must have a big house somewhere…to have dinner with good wine. To see Enjolras, graying but fiery, in front of an assembly of statesmen. 

He reached out for the nearest half-empty bottle of wine. He drained it.

It is the life he chose for himself. He will face it like a man.

Somehow.  

…………………………….

The second floor of the cafe was quieter that evening, if such a thing was possible amid all the bustle of serving dinner and lowering mugs to tables. Everyone turned silent as he appeared at the stairs. 

He raised an eyebrow. "I know I'm good-looking, but am I handsomer now?" he asked. 

Several of the young men chuckled, and some of the tension broke. "I suppose you already know?" Feuilly asked. 

"That…Marius now has a girl?" 

"Yes, that, and…the general is at the last strings of life?" 

"Hmmm," he said, rubbing his chin. "I…sort-of guessed. Paris is too quiet today." 

"It's true. You know what that means." 

"It's means we're free?" 

"Grantaire…" 

He grinned, bravely, hiding the fear he saw in the eyes of all. "It just means our fearless leader gets his wish very soon. He gets a fight everyone will remember. We make our place in history. Very soon." 

"But…" 

"But what?" 

"Can we really…do this?" 

He grabbed the nearest bottle and gulped from it. "As long as Enjolras keeps enough wine and enough guns, I suppose we'll last long enough." He took another long swig. 

Feuilly chuckled. "Do you really, truly, believe that? Or is that the wine talking?" 

He smiled, and looked at his comrade well in the eyes. "Yes." 

Feuilly slammed his forehead. "Yes, to what?" 

Grantaire patted him on the shoulder. "We'll give them a show Paris won't forget soon. We all will." 

"And that is my opening speech, stolen from me," said a voice he knew too well, just behind him. 

Grantaire grinned again as he bowed low and with a flourish. "Bow before your king, my comrades, for he speaks." 

"Will you stop it, you stupid drunk." Enjolras ruffled his curls. "Are you better?" 

He stood and straightened his shoulders. "This humble subject thanks your highness for his concern. He will live to see the revolution, may it please your majesty. If you now wish to begin said revolution." 

His leader seemed distracted, though. For one, if he was late, Marius and Eponine were not there yet. 

He sighed. Marius primarily helped with the propaganda material and the crowd-pleasing. That was important, of course. But the time to fight had come, and Marius would just be one of them, one added man among many. 

That was still better than he could do. He was just good at keeping an eye on Gavroche, that the smart kid would not get stepped on among so many eager young men. Maybe, also to keep an eye on the wine stocks. He was sort-of good with his fists, but he had bad aim with guns. Whether with the groundwork or the actual battle, he was, is, and would be, useless. 

Marius arrived. He was dazed and flighty. Like a man in love, which he was. It seems the pauper statesman had found the girl again somewhere, thanks to their messenger girl, who would do anything for Marius. Marius was now sure she lived somewhere nearby. Almost got her name this time. 

Grantaire teased like everyone else, if only to get everyone's attention away from himself, that he was worried that Enjolras was worried that Marius was so dazed and flighty. Besides, it was just fun teasing the pauper statesman. It did get their mind off their immediate fears…of war, and death. 

"Your timing is off. You're head is in the clouds again." Feuilly patted his shoulder. "Are you really better now?" 

"My turn," Grantaire said, clearing his head. "Am I really just good for keeping you all happy?" 

"Shut up, you fool," his friend said, giving him another firm pat. "Don't underestimate everything you've done for us, just because you're here. Keeping us all happy is important." 

"You're just saying that…" 

"No. I am truly glad you're one of us. So is Enjolras. He doesn't look it, but if he really didn't like you he would've kicked you out a long time ago, yeah?" 

He raised the bottle in his hand and took a swig. He lifted his voice, for all to hear. "To happiness. May we have more of it, for much longer." 

He heard the light and rapid footfall of young feet on the stairs first. He gulped. 

He blocked Gavroche at the top of the stairs. "So it starts?" he asked the boy. 

The boy caught his breath. He was pale, but also flushed with excitement. He nodded. 

Grantaire got everyone's attention. "Hey! The kid's back!" 

And Gavroche spoke the words everyone wanted and dreaded to hear: 

"The general is dead."


	14. moments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AO3-only chapter, since it got long and was typed when internet was unreliable or nonexistent. Also, I'm taking advantage of the one day I feel the long holiday.

He remembered everything and nothing. 

Everything was distinct, but passed in a blur. 

He remembered Enjolras's instructions clearly as he gave them: who was to find out where the procession would start, who was to get the procession route, where each man would be stationed, who was to do what, what was the signal to start forming the barricades, who would be the people to give the signal, where the barricades would be made, who to trust, where to run. He knew what to do….but forgot the moment immediately as it passed. 

He hated that. 

He liked moments, big and small, especially the small. The moments that would pass, that he would immediately store in the disordered rooms of his brain and cherish in some little quiet time he was alone. The moment the cook let them have the best wine for half the price because it was the last bottle. The instant Feuilly sold more than the usual number of fans and bought a round of drinks. The time they successfully got Marius drunk and rambling about his strict grandfather. The time Combeferre landed a joke that actually worked and got them laughing for minutes. The time their medical student got dumped by a girl, got incredibly drunk, and rambled on and on about the effects of heartbreak on the human heart. The moment everyone knew this one song about the monarchy and started singing it all at once, in harmony and in tune, and even Enjolras sang along. These were the moments he would remember, and would die remembering. 

With Enjolras animated, fierce, and determined, planning out what everyone would do, but with everyone quiet and focused on the task soon at hand…there was nothing to remember with fondness. He hated that. 

He poked holes at the plans whenever he found them, not out of spite, but out of boredom. Remembering everyone so serious and tense was boring. Yet he knew that it was not the right time for jokes. 

Besides, Marius was unreliable at the moment, thinking of the girl he just met and might lose just as quickly. The fearless leader himself was unreliable, distracted by the pauper statesman's worries, forcing himself to concentrate by intently carrying out the plans…and failing to concentrate altogether. 

"Why are you being so contrary all of a sudden?" his leader asked, raising his head from the map. 

"I'm not being contrary, sir," he retorted. 

"You keep pointing out so many things!" 

"Have you considered how many people will be out to see the general?" 

"Precisely!" 

"Thus, how many people will needlessly die if we're not careful? Stray bullets. Policemen being policemen. People panicking and trampling other people." 

"If it happens, it happens!" 

"It's not going to win people to our side if you let that happen!" 

"Bacchus, you're one to talk!" 

"Yes, I'm not you, your highness," Grantaire immediately shot back. "I merely speak as the voice of those who don't want to get involved needlessly." 

"They can stay out of our way, then." Enjolras raised himself and levelled with him. 

"They will, but you have to make it easier for them to do so." 

Marius stood up and placed himself between them. "Really, I didn't expect Grantaire to be causing a fuss, of all people. We all just need to cool our heads, yes?" 

Grantaire sighed and sat down. He grabbed the nearest bottle and drank from it. 

The pauper statesman, meanwhile, turned to the leader. "Enjolras, our drunk makes a very good point. You have to limit the collateral damage." 

"So you take his side now," Enjolras said, with some bitterness. 

"I just agree that you need to limit the collateral damage." 

"Fine." Enjolras stared at his map, glanced between Marius and Grantaire, as well as the other young men who surrounded him. "Grantaire. What do you suggest we do?" 

"Why are you asking me?" he chimed. "I'm just good for being contrary, really!" 

Some of the young men chuckled, as the tension eased. 

The meeting went on, as a feasible yet bold sequence of events began to emerge. 

In the end Grantaire would merely be one of the first people to head back to the ABC on that fateful day, securing their position and ensuring their stocks and supplies. It was not a big job, and not a prominent one. It suited him. 

It was a long meeting, and a serious one. Everyone patted each other on the shoulder as they departed, one by one, not having any words left to say. Soon they were all gone, and only Enjolras and he were left. 

Grantaire clamped a hand over his leader's shoulder. He was too late stopping himself from squeezing it. 

"You're mad at me, Enjolras. For last night." 

His leader looked away. 

"No. I am not." 

His leader loosened himself from the grip. 

He stared at his fearless leader. 

He blinked. He blinked again. 

Now, THAT moment. He would remember that one.


	15. descend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apollo. Bacchus. Different, but the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's depressing to me that I write so short. It's not helpful in places that need large wordcounts. 
> 
> The stuff about Apollo and Bacchus are stuff I took from wikipedia. Not very knowledgable about those Greek and Roman deities in real life. 
> 
> NSFW, though not by a whole lot. Fair warning, that said.

The irony of the situation did not escape him. For once, he was awake before his exhausted fearless leader. 

He turned his head, and found the note he left on the bed for his family, still intact. He would keep it there. He was alone on his bed. 

He raised his head, and smiled with a sigh. Enjolras was still there, still asleep. 

The leader had absent-mindedly followed him home, a lost, tired, strong hound. He had kept planning in his head, walking in a straight line, following a track that lead somewhere he did not notice, trailing after Grantaire’s steps, not there enough to know where he was going.

Graintaire kept glancing behind him, ensuring that his leader did not lose his reverie by losing his step. Before long, Grantaire was back in his apartment…with the leader muttering behind him. 

“Enjolras, my liege. I believe you’re sleepwalking,” he said. 

The leader kept muttering under his breath. Grantaire heard Marius’s name. “Hestaysbesidemetorousethepeopleduringtheimportantmoment. Hemaydecidetodesertusforthemysterygirl. Ifhedoes, Courfeyracwillbethesecond. He’sknownwellenough…”

“My liege, seriously…” Grantaire scratched his head as he fumbled for the keys. 

“Westrikeastheprocessionturnsthecurve. Eponinewillstaywiththeotherboys…” 

Grantaire turned and held his leader’s shoulders. “Enjolras. Stop. Rest.” 

The leader roused a bit, and focused on him a while. “There is no time to rest, you stupid drunk,” he said. 

“You’re useless to us without it.” Grantaire led him to his only chair. He sat him down. “You can take the bed if you like.” 

“No, I still need to think…” 

Yet the leader did not object to finding himself in that apartment. “Enjolras, Paris won’t change in the hours while you sleep, alright?” 

“Atfirstlight, weassemble. Onemanineachkeypoint. Ourotherpeoplescatteredthroughthecrowd…” 

The leader had fallen back into his dazed jumbled mutterings. Grantaire placed a shirt at the backrest, and eased his leader’s head onto it. 

Enjolras’s head was tilted back on the only chair, his mouth slightly open as he snored. The sun started to warm him, but the leader did not stir nor notice. 

In between snores Grantaire heard his name, and the names of his friends, uttered one by one. Like a turn of the rosary, each name a memorized gentle prayer. Each name spoken with fondness, with honor. 

He saw a tear trail a path through his leader’s cheek, then drop onto the shirt, to fade there as part of him. 

He slowly rose. Tiptoe-ing, he approached his leader. 

Apollo. One of those great gods. Light and sun. Truth and prophecy. Healing and plague. Music and poetry. So contrasting, these traits, these interests. But they were elements of the same being. So they were in this fiery, intelligent young man they followed. Strength and weakness. Power and vulnerability. 

He saw the weakness, the vulnerability. 

He placed a finger on the cheek, almost never touching it. He quietly wiped away the track of water that passed through. 

The leader opened his eyes. Slowly, matter-of-factly. He smirked.

Grantaire saw the daze that was still present. “Close your eyes. It’s still early. Go back to sleep. You want to lie down?” 

“It’s tomorrow.” He saw his leader trying to shake away the cobwebs in his mind. “So many people to meet. So many things to make sure. Tonight, we have to meet. On the next sunrise, we strike…”

“Not like this, you’re not, my liege. I’m sure you already won’t sleep this night. Rest. A few hours more. It’s still early. Everything is quiet. The police didn’t see you here. We have until tonight.”

“I need coffee,” his leader protested drowsily. “Some breakfast. Some coffee. Then I leave.” 

Coffee nor alcohol could deal with fatigue as great as he saw. After all, Enjolras was the brain that made all the parts move. The strain of the work was clear now. But they needed Enjolras sharp and ready by tomorrow, more than anyone else. Not when Marius too was distracted. Not when any of his friends could suddenly back out…not out their own desire, but by the pulling back of well-meaning loving people. 

“Apologies, my liege. I have to do this,” he said. “For your revolution.” 

Grantaire swooped down and covered his leader’s mouth with his lips.

The leader gasped, his eyes widening in surprise. He placed hands onto Grantaire’s shoulders.

“Don’t resist, my lord.” he kissed him again. “I am Dionysus. I am Bacchus. I am low. I am beneath your notice, you, one of the greatest. But in the grand scheme, we are equal. We are different, but the same.”

“Don’t…we have work to do…” 

“I am here, to gain you some rest, with some pleasure. If you so wish.”

“What choice do I have, you crazy stupid—”

“Just close your eyes, my lord, and let me do this.” 

“What….what are you…” 

He could feel himself hardening. “You long for the statesman. I know I am not he. It’s alright. Close your eyes. Imagine. Descend into dreams. Erase me. Think that you are with him. Erase me, and descend.” 

“But…but…” 

“Just close your eyes. Descend. Trust me. Descend.” 

He tasted the lips with more fervency, as the leader began to dazedly, drowsily, return his advances.

“Stop, stop…” the leader begged, even as he breathed heavily.

He lowered his hands through the leader’s torso, loosening clothing, undoing buttons and clips, releasing ties. He reached down, and inside.

“Erase, my lord. Descend.”

The leader sighed, closed his eyes, and surrendered the battle. 

He raised him from the chair, savoring his lips in close succession. He led him toward the bed. Still kissing his lips and neck, he lowered him onto the sheets.”Descend,” he reminded, as he descended. 

He stroked below, gently encouraging a stiffness to emerge. He tasted lips, cheeks, and neck above. He smiled as the daze deepened, as the resistance completely failed, fully dispersed. He watched as the eyes rolled upward, as reason was pushed back. He was now forgotten, lost in the haze of the dream he had induced. 

It was only a short moment after that the leader released, defeated by the assault. The leader caught his breath, as the tightness of the muscles eased, as the body fell back into profound relaxation. It happened a bit too quickly. The exhaustion was too great, just needed to be pushed into submission. 

Grantaire gave one final kiss, then whispered into his ear.

“Sleep. Descend. Dream of the future you seek. For when you rise, you will make it happen.”

He received no response. He saw the long slow breaths of deep slumber. He found the cleanest blanket and draped it over his fearless leader.

Enjolras would be very, very mad when he regained all his senses back, but Grantaire did not care. If the fearless leader was alert enough to give him a talking-down, to scowl at him, to ignore his existence again, he was ready enough for the end of a monarchy, the end of the world. 

The world was about to end. He just helped his master sleep before it did.

He smiled.


	16. to honor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the interval between chapters. It's partly Athelstan's fault. 
> 
> I remember when I first read the tome that I wondered why Grantaire suddenly and completely left the scene for several hours. I mean, I can't believe anyone gets that drunk, especially a veteran like him. I suppose this is my guess. Not to say I'm anywhere close to knowing what the original author did.

Everything was a memorable rapid blur, speeding so quickly, but with the seconds ticking distinctly, the memories cementing firmly and immediately. 

Gavroche running faster than he ever has, which meant faster than the fastest horse. Enjolras running at all. The friends from the cafe scattering in all directions, but with purpose and resolve. Marius firing a pistol, the one who had never fired a pistol straight in his life, firing straight and sure, with purpose to kill. 

Himself running into the cafe, faster than everyone else, hiding all the wine and stocks where he knew they would keep, even while the cooks and the landlady protested loudly, hiding all the guns and bullets and flags where his friends could find them easily but the national guard never will, getting out all the usable tables and chairs when Courfeyrac asked for them, hemming and hawing and kissing landladies to get them, grabbing beds and tables and cushions and upturned carriages and wagons, placing them haphazardly into a sturdy pile in the middle of the street, in front of the cafe that fed for so long so patiently. 

Guns firing. Fires made. Fires quelled. Running back and forth for bullets and rifles and wine. Especially the wine and beer. 

Himself running here and there. Where do you need me? Here? Alright. Running again to another person. Need help? Here, more bullets. Running to Gavroche coming from somewhere. Hey everybody! We have friends at the south end, they're doing well! Running to Gavroche, claiming the bullets and supplies he retrieved from the dead. Be careful out there, you little rascal. 

Then Eponine happened. 

Only Marius was intact enough, sane enough, dense enough, to keep moving, then. Everyone just…well…stood there. Watching, thinking, getting soaked by the rain.

He would soon be next. 

……………………………

The next day came, and the next. Strangers came and went. Strangers and friends lived and died. 

An old man arrived and hovered around Marius from a distance. A deadly-accurate shot. A man with more brawn than half the young men among them. Thank the heavens for people that the pauper statesman seemed to know. 

A man managed to trick Enjolras. It only showed how dead-tired the leader already was, he who was so shrewd and quick. Then again the fearless leader was quick to see loyalty, for he expected it of anyone. He was not so quick to see a lie, to see a traitor. 

But maybe it also showed how tired he was himself. He should have recognized the inspector as fast as Gavroche, or at least he should have been suspicious. 

Then there was this moment Gavroche suddenly charged out of the barricade, singing bravely through the gunshots. Until one bullet reached him, and the boy smiled and sung his last. 

He rushed out to grab the boy. He embraced him as he brought the boy back. He wished he had done it more often. He watched the boy bleed, staring and seeing nothing, the boy who watched and saw everything. 

He would soon be next. It should not happen to a boy. It should happen to useless people like him. 

......................................

A ceasefire was raised for the evening. Finally. 

He grabbed the last intact wine bottle. He took a small swig, then passed it on to Jehan, rattled by all the gunfire noise, shaking from the death in front of them, but bravely holding it together. Jehan smiled, took a small drink, passed it to Combeferre beside him. 

Enjolras was asleep while seated, at the base of their side of the barricade. He was initially asleep while standing. Someone had noticed and sat him down, where he kept nodding while seated upright. 

Marius stared blankly into the barricade. The messenger girl's hat and kerchief were in his pockets. In another pocket was the letter from the mystery girl. 

Everyone was tired, hungry, and out of bullets. The wine bottle passed from hand to hand, through parched mouths with fatigued dusty bodies. Even he felt like just sitting and staring at nothing. He no longer cared if he lived or died, either way. 

Until the fearless leader stood over him. 

He smiled. "Stay asleep, my liege. You need it." 

"I've had enough," the leader said. "Come." He motioned toward the cafe. 

He followed quietly, into the bullet-ridden establishment, now with broken windows and fractured tables and chairs. 

Hidden by the evening darkness, the leader took out a small decanter from a pocket, filled with brown liquid. "Here. For you." 

"What about you?" 

"I've had enough." It was a lie, of course, for the leader looked weary and needing fire in his belly. The leader raised the small bottle, then handed it to him in a toast. "To life." 

Grantaire toasted, receiving the small bottle. "To dying with honor," he grinned and overturned the bottle into his mouth. 

But he paused with the first big gulp. By now he knew what every good and cheap wine tasted like, and this one tasted too different from everything he had drunk. He licked his tongue, and as he felt a rising urge to lie down, understanding reached him. 

The wine was spiked, heavily, with sleeping draught. It was indeed for him. 

He smiled, forcing himself to focus through the mounting haze. He distinctly said his name. "Enjolras. You traitor." 

"You deserve to live," his leader said quietly. "Among all of us, you deserve it most. Live, and tell them about us." 

"I chose this," he protested. "It's my life, sir! It is mine to lose." 

"I say you're throwing it away." 

"Speak for yourself!" 

His leader sighed and gave a slight smile. "I'll see you in hell." 

"You will see me one last time in this world first!" He pinched his thigh, forced himself awake for a few more moments. "You won't get rid of me so quickly, Enjolras. I will see the end of your life. I refuse to wake up to a life without you. So I will see you when you die, and I will be there. I will." 

His leader bowed his head. "Whatever you say…Grantaire." 

"So stay alive until then." 

He toppled forward onto his leader's shoulder.


	17. forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the last contribution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Here we are. We all know how it ends. This is definitely not the Paris Burning awesome thing, or where R is a vampire awesome thing. (Two awesome things, one at LJ and one on Tumblr, find them! and thanks K for the links) But this is as good as I could do it, and as far as I could go. 
> 
> There are no notes at the end of this thing, just a signing-out. I'd like to thank K and Umi (and, by extension, joshinken and stormberry) for that insane over-coaxing Twitter exchange that dared me to do this. This was just supposed to be a one-shot tumblr post, but it got longer and longer. I have not written fanfiction in a while, and had lost most confidence in my original writing apart from the non-fiction ranty reviews. Thank you for getting me writing again, just for the heck of it, without second-guessing myself. 
> 
> Thank you to all of you who have read the tumblr short posts, the AO3 version, or both. Thank you for the kind words and the kudos. Thank you for tolerating the late-night typings of a tired whitecoat. 
> 
> Here we go.

He opened his eyes to darkness, alternately pierced by light. 

His head pounded. His limbs still felt weighted. 

But he awoke. 

The noise of battle kept him asleep. 

The silence woke him. 

That piercing, terrible, terrifying, ungodly silence. 

This was the reason why his preferred manner of escape was alcohol. Not tobacco -- though he had his share of that and did not find it objectionable. Definitely not opium. Tobacco made a person calm but still aware of the world. Opium made one lose awareness of the world. Sleep pills did the same. Alcohol was a modest way to have both, but in ways he could control. 

This thing that his leader did annoyed him greatly. For he knew he was asleep, his limbs practically dead. But his senses were kept vaguely aware of what happened around him. He wanted to grab a gun and shoot someone, get a stray piece of wood and whack it onto someone's head, or something. What can one do in a dream? 

He could do nothing, but stay down, and count the shots, and cringe at the sounds of metal piercing bone, and cry inside as cries died in the lips of so many he knew so well. 

And sleep. And drown it out. And sleep. 

But he could not drown it away. 

He could only sleep. And that, very poorly. 

He woke to silence. 

To deafening silence. To heart-wrenching, bone-crushing silence. 

His felt his fingers and toes. Finally they worked. He opened and closed his fists, wiggled his toes and moved his ankles. He lifted one knee, raised himself on one arm. 

He sighed. 

Useless, until the end. He was useless. 

Slowly he lifted himself, from the back of the cafe counter. His leader hid him there, and it was just his luck no one tried to find him among the wine bottles and beer kegs. They must have supposed, and it would have been right in another time and moment, that he had found the hidden stash and stayed there to waste the night and the day. Today, though, they were all wrong. 

It was as much his fight, his hopeless revolution, as anyone else's. No more, and no less. 

He looked around the cafe. Light penetrated the slats in ways he never knew possible. All the tables and chairs of the first floor were gone, fractured either by the law or the resistance they made against it. 

He walked through the small, desolate, deserted cafe, staring ahead of him, not knowing what to look at. The barricade he helped build from furniture, beds, scrap plywood, doors. The gaping hole. The shrapnel. 

The bodies. The blood. 

No. 

The people. His people. His friends. 

Everything was quiet. 

It did not take him long to understand. 

They had lost. 

Everybody was dead. 

Except Marius. He could not find him anywhere. It was unlikely he suddenly defected or was captured. More likely it was his eventual father-in-law. The one who weaved in and out of their barricades. The one who dealt with the policeman. That old-timer took them all seriously but kept his focus on Marius. Damn his good luck, the pauper statesman. Here's to that lovely little lady with a good father. May they have a good life. 

Everyone was dead. Except himself. Only the good die young, and he was not. 

But everybody else was dead. All his friends. The young men that made his evenings memorable. All gone. Just like that. 

He sighed. 

It was no use staying where there was no one to play with. 

He went back into the cafe, and stared at nothing for a long while. 

Then he heard the footfall. 

He heard rapid footfall, and the readying of rifles. He heard the footfall going up the stairs. 

One man was left, who would soon be dead. 

He had a good idea who it was. 

He took a deep breath. He remembered in one long breath all the one-night stands, the pointless tavern brawls, the stupid intellectual arguments, the drunken round songs, the friends, the friends, the leader, the nights, the moments. 

The moments. There will never be anything like those nights at the cafe, those days with the leader, those hours with the Greek god. Not if he lived for a hundred years. Nothing will ever come close to them. 

What the hell. 

To life. 

To death. 

His last contribution. For what it was worth. 

He ruffled his hair. He placed one foot onto the floor, then the other. He lifted himself up. 

He trudged up the stairs. One foot after the other. 

He stopped at the top. 

He smiled at his fearless leader, haughtily smirking at the troop of soldiers circling him, alone, without his pistol, without a knife. Holding the flag they made, with the bad seams, the letters that never went in a straight line. The leader's eyes widened for a long moment, then they softened to a hopelessly laughing gaze, scolding half-heartedly, you are out of your damn mind, get out of here, stupid fool, while you still can. 

He noisily stepped forward, with the biggest, bravest grin he could muster. 

"Long live the revolution! Count me in." 

It was the only thing he had left to do. All debts were paid….well except for several bottles of wine when he was broke. His family would never forgive him, but what the hell. 

It was time to join his friends. Heaven or hell, it didn't matter. As long as they had some sort of drinks that tasted decent. Because God would probably not let them have wine and beer. 

He slowly walked forward, parting the soldiers, keeping his smile, until he stood beside his leader. 

He reached for his leader's hand. He held it. 

He clasped all the fingers. He squeezed, feeling all the lines in the palm. 

"Two for one shot." 

His leader glared at him, gaped at him. 

"Will you permit it?" 

Enjolras kept his eyes on him, pleading desperately one last time. But he surrendered this first, before he surrendered his life. 

He sighed. Then he nodded. 

Grantaire nodded back, with a resolute smile. 

With the other hand the leader grabbed the flag. They faced the troop and their rifles. 

The leader raised the flag. 

Forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EK out.


End file.
